May Your Life Be As Awesome As You Pretend It To Be On Facebook

May your life be as awesome as you pretend it to be on Facebook.

Chuckle.

I'm a writer, a rockstar, a gangster, a space cadet, a raconteur. I am the great, dark mysterious man who brings light into my lover's lives. I am whoever I want to be, in my mind racing away from me with fantasy, or delusion, all I have to do is chose, click my heals 3 times and I am transformed like I am on the best drugs the world has ever developed, to the theme song of Doctor Who.

I am a sailor on a huge ocean going liner, the open sea is my friend. I drink whisky and play strip poker with the other sailors when the nights get long and we are bored.

I am a stripper, with my own drug habit and greased pole, with a benevolent pimp named Gerry who wears far too much gold, who smells of perfume and cum, who looks out for me with a pearl-handled shank.

I am a beautiful vampire, I dazzle my conquests with my alabaster skin and my prefect features, before I nuzzle their neck, before I bite their warm skin seductively and drink their blood.

I am a Mongolian goat herder who has nothing and who is the happiest man on the planet.

I am a deep sea diver searching for ancient treasure.

I drive a black Citroen D series from Melbourne to London with my adorable boyfriend who hangs off every word I utter. Ha, ha, it is to dream. You just know I'd hate him if he did.

I am a gambler and I sit at the high rollers table thinking nothing about putting down a million, or making a poor croupier, with a sparkle in his blue eyes, rich.

I am a grifter with a bleach-blonde pre-op transexual girlfriend named Bunny, living on my whits, living one step ahead of those who I have swindled. 

I am an insane mercenary who takes a gun and shoots all the frackers dead, one by one. I, of course, do not travel alone, I have my all-kicking, all-screaming, fierce drag queen singing pack, Frocks for Humanity, who ruthlessly track and eliminate the enemy by my side, often ahead of me. Those girl's are killers. All the bloated corporate enemy hears is the first bars of, "I am what I am," before the machine gun's fire.

I am a world famous painter, I ooze colour and movement. I am a member of the jet-set and I am lauded for my talent and whit. I die from a heroine overdose at the height of my fame, because it is chic and I am too bored to contribute to the world any longer.

I run Indian hotels off the beaten track with my man servant Abu and my trusty Hindustan Ambassador.

I support starving children in African countries along side dedicated doctors.

I climb mountains in Nepal just because they are there. I run my fingers over the dead, frozen corpses of those who came before me as a sign of respect.

I design beautiful waterlily gardens with poetic bridges, just because I can. I donate them to the blind when I am done.

I race cars in Monaco just to quaff the champagne when I win.

I discover the answer to global warming and save humanity.

I develop a truth serum for politicians and save the world's sanity.

I meditate in the Tibetan highlands in silence for the rest of my life.